


Land of Enchantment

by mizdiz



Series: Going Down [6]
Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Headcanon, New Mexico, One Shot, Outdoor Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:06:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26474644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizdiz/pseuds/mizdiz
Summary: "Carol gets off the bike with grace, her hair windswept from the road, and she is decadent. He's never seen her look so beautiful. An enchanting woman standing on enchanted land, and when he realizes, with a skip of the heart, that he's allowed to have both, he thinks, this must be what it feels like to be a lucky man."in light of the new spin-off news, here's some porn ft. new mexico
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Series: Going Down [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1171979
Comments: 1
Kudos: 28





	Land of Enchantment

There are no state borders anymore, but New Mexico is its own place anyway. Already she's a contradiction; she's miles' worth of mysteries waiting to be unraveled, and just look at that sky. The sky is different here, vast in a way Daryl's never seen before, as if the horizon is running from him, getting farther and farther away while taunting him to follow. He could spend his whole life chasing it and would never come close.

When he dismounts the bike and his feet touch the ground he can feel the magic in the soil. The minerals beneath the surface are transcendent, casting a spell across the whole of the desert, and suddenly he understands why it's called the Land of Enchantment. 

Carol gets off the bike with grace, her hair windswept from the road, and she is decadent. He's never seen her look so beautiful. An enchanting woman standing on enchanted land, and when he realizes, with a skip of the heart, that he's allowed to have both, he thinks, this must be what it feels like to be a lucky man.

"We made it," she says unnecessarily. They're the first words they've spoken since they passed the withered and bent "Welcome to New Mexico" sign that they hadn't needed, because New Mexico greets you wordlessly when you enter. You don't need to be told when you've arrived. You just know.

He nods, but doesn't speak, drinking her in with the parched eyes of a man who hasn't been allowed to even look at water for over ten years. Ironic that only now he can have it, here in the desert.

He tears his gaze from her—not an easy feat—and gives his surroundings a good once over. In the low light of dusk he can see the track marks from where a lizard skittered by not long ago. He can tell the breeze has been gentle by the way the sand slopes. It's new but the same; he's a tracker no matter what the terrain.

He says, "I thought I'd miss the trees more."

He's never lived without the forest before. Part of him—a part bigger than he would ever admit—was afraid he'd be a fish out of water here, trying to flip-flop his way back to the sanctuary of the forest, but as vast as the desert is he doesn't feel exposed. He feels as though he is being cradled by the small hills and tall cacti, the way he does by the trees. There are different hands holding him, but they're providing the same touches of comfort, telling him not to worry, he's safe.

"I didn't expect it to be so pretty," Carol says. She walks a small, slow circle in place, getting a panoramic view. "I always thought deserts were full of nothing, but who knew that nothing could be so alive?"

She's right. Even the empty air vibrates with energy; the voice of the soul inside the frontier welcoming them home. On the highway they’d passed a road sign that said “gusty winds may exist,” as if even the meteorologists of the past knew they could never predict for certain what the state would offer. New Mexico is breathing around them, so vibrant and resplendent that Daryl wonders if he even knew what being alive meant before he landed here.

Carol steps into his space and places a hand on his bare forearm. Her fingers are electric and charged, causing pleasant sparks on his skin as she slides them down past his wrist and laces them with his. He tugs her closer and she goes willingly, her other hand reaching up to cradle the base of his head, her thumb resting just below his ear and caressing the curve of his jaw. Dusk is upon them, and on the canvas of deep reds and oranges they’re a part of, the blue of her eyes are a stunning contrast.

“Kiss me?” She says it as a question but it may as well be a command by the way he’s compelled to oblige. Ducking his head the short distance between them, his lips find hers and fit between them in a way that’s so perfect he wonders how it took them so long to realize they’re from the same two-piece puzzle. The picture they create when they come together is abstract—anyone looking can have their own interpretation, but only they know what it truly means to say. Together they’re an art piece depicting a love deeper than the ocean; denser than the forest; vaster than the desert.

He wraps his free arm around her waist and pulls her forward until her hips meet his. The gliding of her tongue over his makes him press his fingertips into her lower back. They rest on her vertebrae like they’re piano keys. He has every intention of playing her notes until he perfects the melody of ecstasy. She hums in his mouth, already making music that’s muted as it’s swallowed by the sand around them. He moves his kiss to her neck and whispers, “Want’cha.” 

“Then have me,” she replies, lifting her chin towards the sky to give him access to more skin. He skims his teeth over old lovebites he’s already gifted her. He doesn’t leave them there to claim her. Carol will always be her own person, but he likes to remind her that some bruises can be sweet. 

Stepping away from her is so difficult he’s surprised he doesn’t hear the tear of velcro. He’s still got a hold of her hand, and he lifts it up to pepper each knuckle with a kiss before letting go. On the bike they have only their essentials—storage on a motorcycle can only be so big—and it takes him only a moment to find the thick, fleece blanket rolled tight. The pattern is colored with rich copper and turquoise, already matching the aesthetic of the southwest. Maybe that’s why he’d liked it so much when he found it. 

He unfurls it and gives it several good shakes before laying it flat on the dusty ground. He fixes the corners, making sure it’s smooth, and then focuses on unlacing his boots and kicking them and his socks aside so he doesn’t track dried mud, blood, and grit on the blanket. The sand is warm and unfamiliar on his bare feet. This is nothing like the sand on the coastline; like everything else, New Mexico is a breed of its own.

Kneeling on his knees in the center of the blanket, he holds a hand out to her. She’s already removed her own shoes, and instead of coming to him she meets him dead in the eye and starts unbuttoning her shirt. He lets his arm drop and watches transfixed as each undone button exposes more of her. After she lets her shirt slide off her shoulders and drop to the ground, she unclasps her bra from behind and lets it follow suit. Only then does she approach. She stands tall over him, and he places his hands on her ass and presses his face into the soft skin of her belly. 

Peeking up at her through shaggy bangs with fire in his eyes, Daryl undoes the buckle of her belt. She draws her lower lip in between her teeth as he works her pants and panties down. He takes his time. The few times he received presents as a child he never had a chance to savor the unwrapping because his brother was always hovering nearby, ready to snatch it away from him, but no one is stealing his gift tonight. 

Her body is a timeline, depicting dates of war. Every scar is a summary of a battle, but still they’re beautiful because they’re all battles that she won. He kisses every single one of them, so sad she’s been hurt, but so ecstatic she’s alive.

When he’s done unveiling her, he lets her kick her clothes to the side as he sheds his own shirt to help even the playing field. Of course he has his own timeline written across the span of his flesh, but he no longer cares that she sees. Even if he was still self-conscious he wouldn’t be right now, because she’s standing there before him, an ethereal beauty backdropped by the enchanting New Mexican landscape. 

He nudges her legs apart and fits himself between them. He works himself up by nipping at the skin of her inner thighs. An appetizer. A groan rumbles through her, both out of frustration and anticipation, and he smiles. But he’s not cruel; doesn’t aim to tease. He finds her with his mouth and lets the tip of his tongue entice her as he trails from her entrance to her clit with a feather-light lick. 

Her fingers tangle in his hair, and the gentle tug urges him on. He gets serious now, flattening his tongue and licking her for real. God he loves it when she shudders like that; wants to get her to do it again, so he slips two fingers inside her to make her shake. They slide in easily, her body readying itself for him, and his erection gets harder the wetter his hand gets as he finds the right tempo against her walls. 

Meanwhile, his tongue is busy writing love letters. His rhythm is an oration, explaining every inch of his heart to her. She answers back with the contracting of her muscles, telling him she hears him loud and clear. Her own love declaration comes when his fingers and his mouth work in tandem to pull all her wires taut, and then make them snap, causing her to cry out, telling the whole of the desert about her satisfaction. 

He catches her when she crumples, her body a rag doll, overcome with pleasure. But he doesn’t give her time to recover before he’s kissing her hard, feeling voracious like he never has. He’s ached for her before, but never on enchanted grounds. New Mexico is casting spells, and the onslaught of magic heightens his every sense. He has to see her, feel her, taste her, touch her, hear her—needs all of it all at once. 

She straddles his hips and he doesn’t wait for say-so before thrusting his hips up and inside her. She thrusts down at the same time and sends him in deep. When they come apart and he slips out he growls, low in his throat, and gathers her up in his arms. He’s not as gentle as he should be when he flips her onto her back, but she doesn’t seem to care, clawing at him and pulling him down, as if, even though he’s got his arms around her shoulders and their torsos are flush together, she wants him even closer.

He sinks inside again, and her warm, slick walls welcome him. Both of her legs wrap around his hips when he starts fucking her in long, deep strokes. He finds the pert nipple on one of her breasts and flicks it with his tongue in time with his thrusts. She writhes around beneath him, muttering encouragements. When she gets close again she tugs his face back to hers and kisses him frantically. Her moan is almost a sob as she arches her back and cums even harder than before. 

He wants to keep going, but he’s fighting a losing battle as her muscles pulse wildly around him. The build is slow and delicious, the heat coiling in his groin in stages—the beginning, the point of no return, and then finally, the release. He empties himself entirely, burying his cum inside her where it belongs. She’s petting his hair, guiding him through it, and then kisses his forehead oh-so-sweetly. The expression on her face when he finally comes to his senses enough to lift himself up and look at her is one of undeniable love, and he knows his face says the same.

They put off coming apart until they have no choice, but even then, when Daryl slips out of her, he rolls onto his back and pulls her to him. She rests her head on his chest, just above his thudding heart that’s trying to slow down, and he trails his fingers up and down her skin lazily.

At some point the sun disappeared, and above them is an expanse of stars like they’ve never seen before. How can New Mexico make even the stars seem different? The milky colors of the galaxy are even visible if they look hard enough. 

Everything is different now. Daryl can feel it in his bones. Whatever moves this mysterious place, they’re a part of it now. It’s irreversible. But that’s okay. They were beckoned here like a siren call, but they’ve found a blessing not a curse. New Mexico has enchanted them, and there’s no going back. 

**Author's Note:**

> have i ever mentioned that i was born in new mexico, and also that it's my favorite place in the whole entire world?
> 
> also, whenever i'm there and i see those "gusty winds may exist" signs, i always picture some dude in a basement at a warehouse having an existential crisis, and then his boss comes downstairs and is like, "hey! we need you to make a sign warning ppl about those gusty winds!" and the dude is like..."does wind even exist? do any of us? who am i to make such a claim?" and it makes me laugh every time
> 
> anyway, i had many other things i should have been working on instead of this, but oh well! 
> 
> byee,  
> -diz


End file.
